The Archies - Sugar, Sugar

I have not tracked carbs. Oh, I have been wary of them and in general, my approach has been zero carbs, but I have never applied a data field for them.

I decided to end that today.

I scoured the entire 37th Expedition discovering that for the past 31 days I ate a total of...57 carbs.

That is actually a bit higher than what I have done because I went through the historical data of the table since 29E and saw most of them average around 1 per day. But, it was elevated for 30E and current because of that nature's vitamin, beef liver.

I was hoping the addition of the overall carbs would not stray too far from the fat kcal % message and it does not. For 36E, you are talking about grams of 221 + 68 + 0.8. Or a calories of 1989 + 272 + 3.2.

3 calories a day from carbs!

And thus, you can see why I never felt the need to address it. Still, there is potential for a wallop: earlier this Expedition I ate 7.6 oz of liver. That added 11 grams of carbs for a single day, putting me at 1.8 grams a day. Or, just over 7 calories! I think we're gonna make it.

"Watchin' Some Good Friends Screamin' '...Let's Kick It!'"

For all the bravado of yesterday, I had nothing today. But there is a lot on my mind...though it is as it ever was, something that comes in handy as I broke down the rules to War of the Rings with my son in creating a manageable howto for the user. It called back to my days of being a technical writer.

But my nervous system is janky. HRV is Bryan Adams' fourth studio album. There are times when there is a garage band in the cage that is working on the intro to VH's Hot for Teacher.

This past weekend, I picked up a patch of poison ivy after taking the family out to toss an Aerobie over at Blue Lagoon Park. It was the first time we had thrown a rectangle-like version of an Aerobie. Our collective aim told that particular story, or there was a rift in the space-time continuum that spawned a vortex within a thicket.

Despite being aware of the poison ivy and calling off the event, I thought I would complete the memory and bring back some of that choice urushiol. It took a couple of days for my souvenir to develop. But, unlike the past where I would take a fired-up hair dryer straight away to it for some desperate relief, I am largely indifferent to it. Yeah, I can tell it is itchy, but I am apathetic to its resolution.

In a now rare, but once commonplace hour, I begin writing this at 3 AM. This is not the moment where I will take up my dumbbells to fight again. Nor is it one in which my green headlamps will "rage, rage against the dying of the light."

Am I off track? Is there a cascade of a Twinkies waterfall in my life; am I sliding down a hillside of Blue Bell's Cookies 'n Cream?

120+ lbs pounds ago—those days I once knew. But the clothes don't fit; I just came out of my fat focus day, a leaner diet than I'd like with two sticks of butter with 32 oz of iced coffee. And I return this morning with protein, specifically from a 3.3 oz salmon fillet.

I had so much passion on the workout angle in those December, January, and February months. I miss those days. You might say, "Golly, Bill, that was just the other day. Go take 'em back!" And in response, I take a big breath to unload and..."You're absolutely right."

Unfortunately, the context that shut things down mid-February hasn't lifted. But, change is on the horizon. And yet, as much as poses in the mirror will whittle my future days with delight, I want more.

Today, I'm rolling back a declaration—OK, a handful, but my returning to Google and Garmin is immaterial—I will be wearing shorts in 2024. Yes, I've held off—didn't own nary a one! My thoughts remain, yes, men look goofy wearing shorts. They have names like Todd.

So why the change?

Training level up! Specifically, I'm bringing back what I wore when I ran on the UofM pedestrian bridge to Panera Bread and past the Oak Court Mall in 2021: Sanabul combat shorts and sandals. I picked up apparel with a purple accent and another with neon green. As to the footwear, I got the same pair from 2021, my beloved Xero Z-Trail EV. Three years later, I still love my current pair, though the velcro is no longer reliable and a segment of the tread is on the way breaking away. Best shoe I've owned in my life.

But, it's like that Apollo Creed quotation from Rocky III:

Now, when we fought, you had that eye of the tiger, man; the edge! And now you gotta get it back, and the way to get it back is to go back to the beginning.

That's what I'm doing. It's 2018 again...
...2019 again...
...2020 again...
...and in 2021, I was on the cusp of something special.

Now, <179 lbs is still a bit in the future with a projection to the 2nd half of August. In the meantime, I'm fighting to get my stamina and sensitivity back.

As to the more...stay tuned...

Admittedly, I get more nostalgic than I should. I don't know why...I just have a memory for things that once were. As to the present, those things whip by and these 45-year-old eyes pay them no mind; the months and years plummet off the calendar.

But, something 25-30 years ago?

Sometimes it feels like yesterday. I'll hear a song from '91 or '92 and feel what I once did, how the world was a big place, full of mystery and wonder that lay just outside my home's front door. I had a heart to extend that was shrouded by an introvert's misgivings. It was a time long before the world calloused such things. Isn't that the path we take toward adulthood? Sarcasm and distrust smash dreamlands and hammer out armors of intellect.

Bon Jovi's She Don't Know Me is a befitting anthem for the high school guy who inflects, implies, and infers affection. Each day, I rummaged around my closet and pulled out one outfit: The Nice Guy. I wore it well; it seemed to fit.

It didn't speak anything beyond a middling honors student. It did not show my heart for adventure. There were no highlights that lit up the room as to a passion for independent thought with a willingness to leave the known to pursue something greater. No, I was thought of as "nice." And it's true, I was the guy parents wanted to meet and call on their daughter.

I had no interest in academics. Now, I was in THE classes—I did them—but there was no challenge—no unique thought; it just didn't capture my attention. Now social interplay...now THAT captivated me. And I suspect my being its student forwarded my social ability as an INTJ, who are not renowned for our capacity to "show" empathy. And I suspect the social side did challenge me, as the class I would have LOVED to study, physics, was taught by a coach and prominently featured free time of chess. Or, is it more accurate to say it was a chess course that had a downtime of physics?

On a side note: to some extent, understanding how The Others lived was of particular interest, so much that I stepped down from honors and took standard English and U.S. History classes my junior year; a semester of study hall; and a class down in the vo-tech wing.

I was curious. It's not unlike my approach at university. I seemingly didn't feel like the university general education requirements were enough; I took more. It was at a time when you plopped enough cash down to become a full-time student by taking 4 classes, you could take up to 3 more classes for FREE.

College was going to an all-you-can-eat buffet! I didn't take 1 PE course, I took 4. I didn't need criminal justice or psychology—I WANTED them. Sometimes I took classes to see what they were like before dropping them, which tied directly into Music Appreciation and another in classical guitar. I suppose that behavior didn't fit the range between the do-the-bare-mininum, ever-sleepy college student and the exuberant, tongue-wagging, dean's lister on a leash.

Still, back in high school, I was developing confidence. I didn't know I was an INTJ until I was 16 and I'm not so sure if I knew I was an introvert then. Just different. I always knew I had a blitz of ideas in my head that I kept bottled up. I'd debate with my Sunday School teacher. Things were harder for me in a world dominated by extroverts. But you learn to play the game, to mimic, to toss yourself into the dark abyss of uncomfortable situations. To this day, I dislike gatherings at people's homes—the feints and schemes of social strata. But to get lost on some train platform with another as we hold a timetable in French or Polish? Now THAT's living!

I was never the type to have a girl around my arm walking down those high school hallways. Not that I didn't want that—what guy wouldn't want that? Interestingly, I saw girls at other schools; I knew the game: in my pocket, I had the mirror, comb, and mouth spray. I studied the game for a long time. But, I guess it was the fear of rejection that I did not want to lose what I did have. I didn't roll the dice at the risk of losing daily friendships, the exact type of person that made sense, instead of the no-risk, two-dimensional ones I chose. And when these lectures were over, it was too late while "knowing that the day my lessons finally learned."

But, I learned. Perhaps that classwork rivals that semester of typing as the biggest lesson I learned in high school. And a new landscape was unlocked in Fall 1996 as I stepped onto a college campus, already vested into its social intricacies in the first 10 minutes with someone I'd later roll a nat 1 on that semester.

My "New" Phone

I know this is revolutionary, but I am going to use my cell phone like a cell phone! It might as well be my Nokia in the 90s—it can't take a beating like that Nokia did! And I don't have to buy a $50 battery that could add vibration.

Instead of this Samsung life buddy, I'll use my phone for a quick phone call of where to meet or at age 21 or 22, for a confirmation of when your Mustang convertible's alternator locks up on the Bluegrass Parkway and belts go a-flyin'. Incidentally, that is also a good time to keep a credit card on your person.